Time is not absolute.

Five years is both short and long. It's one thousand eight hundred and fifty-two days. It's also approximately two hundred and sixty weeks, almost sixty months. It is, however, an average lifespan of a guinea pig. It is the minimum number of years required for an apple tree to grow from seed and start bearing fruit. Five years, to our best knowledge, represents 0.0000714285714286 percent of the existence of the human race on Earth.

I could also measure the last five years in three hundred and fifty-three matches across two apps and three dating websites, resulting in seventy-six first dates, twenty-five second dates, six people I saw three or more times, and eighty-three sexual encounters that went beyond the first base. I have tried forty-seven Kamasutra positions, ended two of the relationships, and had four people break up with me.

My hypothesis that autism made me somehow inferior at sex was false. I've spent enough time getting to know the wishes of my partners, and they reported satisfaction with my efforts.

Most commanded me on the improvements and ability to adapt to their preferences. I couldn't reciprocate with the same comments to all of them, but I've learned a lot more about my likes, dislikes, and limits where sex was concerned. I've also discovered my limitations in dating and relationship building. Basing my expectations on what Amélie and I went through was another false assumption.

Amélie didn't prepare me for the constant need of romantic gestures with date nights outside of the house, eating at a variety of restaurants, going to movie theatres, getting tickets to concerts, plays, shows, or ax throwing at a loud bar. It was without her that I experienced trips to the beach, picnics at a park, spent hours in a car with a date, was forced to take 'couple selfies', rejected the requests to adopt a pet together, and suffered through the pushes to drink coffee, alcohol or even to pick up smoking.

After she left, I failed numerous times at anticipating and figuring out what the other person wants without them telling me about it. I was the recipient of slammed doors, shouting, tears, mean words stating that I couldn't feel, that I took things too literally, that I was rude or incapable of emotions. The hours I've spent on figuring it out will pay off when I apply my new extensive knowledge to my ultimate goal: making Amélie fall in love with me.

Mike keeps telling me it's impossible, that you can not force someone to love you, because it is a natural and unpredictable process, but I don't see it this way. History shows a lot of arranged marriages can be successful. Yes, they can fail as well, but enough of the couples eventually fall in love, so one can make someone fall in love with them. And some had not even slept with each other before they got married. I don't have to overcome that hurdle, which puts me in a favorable position. Amélie didn't say she loved me, but I know she was partial to me. Getting from like to love, coupled with known sexual compatibility, would boost my chances of success to above average.

"Are you sure you wanna remove your dating profiles?" Mike is looking over my shoulder as I cancel the last one.

"It's done."

"Fuuuck. You're serious..."

Mike's cursing does not bother me. For a college graduate and a successful small business owner, his vocabulary is minimal, and he resorts to using swear words to express his emotions. Fuck is his absolute favorite and can run the gamut from describing a well-prepared dish 'fuck, this pizza's good', to pain and frustration 'the fucking toe still hurts', to a threat of physical violence 'i'm gonna fuck the fucker up if he looks at her like that again', in this case, it also indicates the unfortunate fan who dared to look at Angie with eyes full of what Mike interpreted as 'fucking fantasies'.

"Are you picking Amélie up from the airport?" I get Mike back to the subject I'm interested in.

"Fuck, no, she'll take a taxi. She's taking advantage of Angie enough by staying with us until she finds a place. I'm not waiting for her at the airport late in the evening when Angie's due any day."

"I can pick her up." I offer.

"Ben, no, that's gonna be fucking awkward."

"Has she asked Angie about me recently?"

"Ange hasn't said anything. But she knows you both will be the baby's godparents. You'll see her soon enough."

Soon enough. Einstein's relativity theory states: "Time slows down or speeds up depending on how fast you move relative to something else." Amélie's time is speeding up as she is flying toward me, and my time is slowing down. The week I have left before her arrival is soon enough for me.

Thank you for reading my first book! This is just the beginning of the Love in Chicago series. You can meet Ben&Am, Angie&Mike, and even Linda in the rest of the series.

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Go to the next chapter to see what the rest of the Love in Chicago Series has to offer.